As the man's life slowly drifted away, his eyes drooped shut, and he gave a sigh of relief. "My life is over. I am afraid I failed in my task." He struggled to open his eyes and looked up at Andrew. "What is your name, young man?"
"I am Andrew MacLean." Andrew replied.
The man gazed deeply into Andrew's eyes and spoke. "Andrew MacLean, with my last breath, I charge you to find the descendants of King Reginald DuFay and return the sword to the rightful bearer. Protect it with your very life."
"Protect it I will," Andrew said with a slight grin on his lips as he beheld the object in his hands. "Do not worry about that."
The old man closed his eyes, and the last remnants of his life ebbed away. He breathed his last, and his head slowly drooped forward.
Andrew shifted his unsympathetic gaze back to the deceased man. "I regret that I was not able to avenge my brother's death on you, old man. That you did not live beyond the battle gives me little consolation. I will leave you where you spoke your last and let the beasts of the field dispense with your remains. Since you were not honorable as you murdered Donald, you will not receive an honorable farewell.